looked away. “I appreciate your help, Quincy.”
“Not a’tall.” He smiled. “Someone should get some use out of this book.”
“At least you’re willing to offer me assistance,” she said to the scamp, though she looked pointedly at Edmund once more.
“Don’t mind Eddie.” He chuckled. “He was born with a frown. It’s like pulling teeth to get him to say a few meaningful words.”
“What do you mean?” Amy appeared confused, her eyes still fixed firmly on Edmund. “He talked too much when he stayed with me.”
“He did?” Quincy looked at his brother. “You did?”
“Piss off,” returned Edmund.
Amy gasped.
“I was talking to Quincy,” he snapped.
“Lesson number two.” Quincy lifted two fingers in the air. “A lady doesn’t curse, nor does she keep company with men who do.”
Amy humphed in compliance, and returned her attention to Quincy and their slowly developing lessons.
After another half hour of mock conversation, Quincy shut the book. “Let’s learn about something more fun…like ballroom etiquette. Do you dance, Miss Peel?”
The provocative images stormed Edmund’s brain: a firm, supple body spinning across the stage, hips rolling, silky fabrics swooshing, gold coins softly clashing as the veiled figure gyrated and twirled in erotic splendor.
Edmund eyed the lovely Amy from across the sitting room, the blood in his veins pounding. He observed the woman’s deep flush, sensed her warming flesh. She was seated with poise, yet a wild, exotic creature dwelled secretly within her heart…and he ached deep in his bones to lock limbs and dance with the beautiful, sensual Zarsitti.
“Aye, she dances,” said Edmund in a quiet yet assured voice, still staring at Amy.
She glanced at him with fire in her eyes. “I don’t know the most current, fashionable steps, though.”
Swishing her round hips and undulating her tight belly was rather scandalous, he reflected with growing carnal hunger. It was a private dance: one reserved for a lover.
“Like the waltz?” wondered Quincy.
“Yes, that’s right,” she said in a rushed manner, twisting her fingers together in her lap as if she might tamp down her dark secret, send it into oblivion. But only Edmund was privy to her true nature as a dancer. His brothers assumed her a barmaid from the club.
Quincy placed the book aside and bounded to his feet. “Well, I’ll teach you that.”
“No,” barked Edmund, drawing the couple’s prompt attention. He wasn’t about to let his flirtatious brother touch Amy in an intimate manner. He’d break all of Quincy’s fingers first.
He said with less bite: “I’ll teach her the waltz.”
Quincy shrugged and returned to the chair. “She still needs to practice good manners in public.” He snapped his fingers. “I know! We can take her to the fete at Chiswick on Friday.”
Edmund cocked a brow. “We?”
“You’ll need a chaperone,” he said with a boyish smile.
“I don’t think you qualify as the chaperone,” Edmund remarked in a dry tone.
“Fine. I’ll ask Belle—no, she’s too busy with the children.” He stroked his chin. “How about James and Sophia?”
Amy visibly shuddered at the mention of his brother James; the notorious captain often elicited that sort of response from women.
“I’ll pen Sophia a note right now.” Quincy was backon his feet and heading for the door. “I know she’ll consent to their being chaperones.”
“James will be here later today,” said Edmund. “He’s coming to ‘visit’ with me, remember? Why don’t you just ask him about the fete when he arrives?”
The scamp flicked his fingers in a dismissive gesture. “If I ask James, he’ll say no. However, Sophia will be much more agreeable.” He winked. “She likes me, after all. Oh, and I’ll inquire about a new wardrobe for Miss Peel. She needs to look the part of a lady, too.”
Quincy departed from the room, leaving Edmund alone with a scowling Amy in the
“Not a’tall.” He smiled. “Someone should get some use out of this book.”
“At least you’re willing to offer me assistance,” she said to the scamp, though she looked pointedly at Edmund once more.
“Don’t mind Eddie.” He chuckled. “He was born with a frown. It’s like pulling teeth to get him to say a few meaningful words.”
“What do you mean?” Amy appeared confused, her eyes still fixed firmly on Edmund. “He talked too much when he stayed with me.”
“He did?” Quincy looked at his brother. “You did?”
“Piss off,” returned Edmund.
Amy gasped.
“I was talking to Quincy,” he snapped.
“Lesson number two.” Quincy lifted two fingers in the air. “A lady doesn’t curse, nor does she keep company with men who do.”
Amy humphed in compliance, and returned her attention to Quincy and their slowly developing lessons.
After another half hour of mock conversation, Quincy shut the book. “Let’s learn about something more fun…like ballroom etiquette. Do you dance, Miss Peel?”
The provocative images stormed Edmund’s brain: a firm, supple body spinning across the stage, hips rolling, silky fabrics swooshing, gold coins softly clashing as the veiled figure gyrated and twirled in erotic splendor.
Edmund eyed the lovely Amy from across the sitting room, the blood in his veins pounding. He observed the woman’s deep flush, sensed her warming flesh. She was seated with poise, yet a wild, exotic creature dwelled secretly within her heart…and he ached deep in his bones to lock limbs and dance with the beautiful, sensual Zarsitti.
“Aye, she dances,” said Edmund in a quiet yet assured voice, still staring at Amy.
She glanced at him with fire in her eyes. “I don’t know the most current, fashionable steps, though.”
Swishing her round hips and undulating her tight belly was rather scandalous, he reflected with growing carnal hunger. It was a private dance: one reserved for a lover.
“Like the waltz?” wondered Quincy.
“Yes, that’s right,” she said in a rushed manner, twisting her fingers together in her lap as if she might tamp down her dark secret, send it into oblivion. But only Edmund was privy to her true nature as a dancer. His brothers assumed her a barmaid from the club.
Quincy placed the book aside and bounded to his feet. “Well, I’ll teach you that.”
“No,” barked Edmund, drawing the couple’s prompt attention. He wasn’t about to let his flirtatious brother touch Amy in an intimate manner. He’d break all of Quincy’s fingers first.
He said with less bite: “I’ll teach her the waltz.”
Quincy shrugged and returned to the chair. “She still needs to practice good manners in public.” He snapped his fingers. “I know! We can take her to the fete at Chiswick on Friday.”
Edmund cocked a brow. “We?”
“You’ll need a chaperone,” he said with a boyish smile.
“I don’t think you qualify as the chaperone,” Edmund remarked in a dry tone.
“Fine. I’ll ask Belle—no, she’s too busy with the children.” He stroked his chin. “How about James and Sophia?”
Amy visibly shuddered at the mention of his brother James; the notorious captain often elicited that sort of response from women.
“I’ll pen Sophia a note right now.” Quincy was backon his feet and heading for the door. “I know she’ll consent to their being chaperones.”
“James will be here later today,” said Edmund. “He’s coming to ‘visit’ with me, remember? Why don’t you just ask him about the fete when he arrives?”
The scamp flicked his fingers in a dismissive gesture. “If I ask James, he’ll say no. However, Sophia will be much more agreeable.” He winked. “She likes me, after all. Oh, and I’ll inquire about a new wardrobe for Miss Peel. She needs to look the part of a lady, too.”
Quincy departed from the room, leaving Edmund alone with a scowling Amy in the
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